I know a huge dog named Emma
Who poses an awful dilemma.
Emma's dilemma's her tail
Which when wagged is a hurricane's gale,
A tail which can smash your shin
Or the legs of the chair you're in.
In spite of her awful appendage,
This dog gives the family great friendage,
And I love her a lot even though
Her tail delivered a deathblow
To my valuable antique chess set
Quite rendering it obsolesset
And an andiron and the bellows
On the hearth, and two Punchinellos
I'd bought in a small shop in Rome
And proudly displayed in my home.
And the hinge of our dishwasher
And the bowl where I serve my briocher
And the glass on our old storm door
And my grandfather's humidor
And the keyboard of my computer
(Doing that, she could not have been cuter
As that tail pounded endless F
And then broke the board right in heff.)
You'd think all this tail stuff would hurt her
But there's just no way to divert her
From wagging that great mighty club
And blasting my stuff to its nub.
Now guard well your ankle bone
'Cause her tail has a life of its own.
And I think I should oughtta warn
You that Emma's no unicorn;
'Cause to all it's really quite clear
That it's not from her head, but her rear
That the damage comes when she wags
And turns my home into rags.
So watch out when Emma's schleppin'
'Cause that tail is a lethal weapon.
And if by some chance dear Emma
Lost that tail? Oh the dilemma!
Not for me, (I'd be glad,) but for Emma.